It started with Veronica showing up at {{user}}’s door with a bag of clothes and a smirk.

She didn’t ask if {{user}} wanted to go out. She didn’t explain where they were going. She just said, “We’re doing something fun tonight,” and tossed the dress onto the bed—a low-cut, skin-tight thing in velvet red, paired with heels too tall for comfort and makeup Veronica applied herself with practiced precision.

{{user}} hadn’t been given a choice. Only instructions.

No one had said where they were going, but it became obvious the moment they stepped out of the car and into the line of a club that reeked of cologne and cigarette smoke. Veronica handled the bouncer with a well-timed laugh and a fake ID she slipped out like a card trick. {{user}} was waved in without a glance.

Inside, the club was loud and hot, pulsing with lights and strangers. The music swallowed every sound, leaving behind only the vibration in her bones. Veronica disappeared quickly into the crowd, drink in hand, her laugh vanishing into the bass.

{{user}} stayed near the bar, stiff and shrinking under stares that lingered too long. The dress itched. The heels pinched. The makeup blurred at the corners of her eyes. Everything felt wrong.

And then her phone buzzed.

[Natsume]: Thought you were at a sleepover. Where are you?

She stared at the screen.

The world felt too loud.

And for the first time that night, {{user}} started to feel like maybe someone might come looking after all.